


Not Quite A Fairytale (Amnesia and Reincarnation)

by Dorkangel



Category: X-Men (Movies)
Genre: Abuse of Authority, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Amnesia, Child Abuse, F/M, Logan the babysitter, Mutant Hate, Nasty death by claws btw, Rogue and Remy were alive in 1905, Victor Is An Asshole, not graphic but still
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-31
Updated: 2014-08-31
Packaged: 2018-02-15 11:38:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2227632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dorkangel/pseuds/Dorkangel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's 1905, and Victor Creed has shacked up in some creepy old house in the middle of the woods, with no one but a terrified servant called Remy for company. Until Logan arrives, that is, bringing with him a lost girl named Rogue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Quite A Fairytale (Amnesia and Reincarnation)

**Author's Note:**

> So... I tried to write a fairytale-ish fic, and it kinda ended up somewhere between Cinderella, Rapunzel and Snow White.  
> NOT AS BAD AS THE FIRST PARAGRAPH SOUNDS, I SWEAR.
> 
> Also, warning for Remy's accent. I have BUTCHERED it. Partly this is because I'm pretty sure people didn't speak like he does back in the early 1900s, but mainly because I'm British and, honestly, I can scarcely tell the difference between one American accent and the next. The only thing I knew about Remy's was that he was from the South and occasionally spoke French.  
> Please don't hurt me.

Canada, 1905.

The boy flinched as the master of the house brought his hands smashing down on the table, keeping his head down, staring at his feet. He was absolutely terrified, not so much of losing his job, but of what Mr. Creed might do to him. He knew the boy wouldn't fight back just as well as the boy knew that if he got fired then no one else in their right mind would hire him, and with nowhere else to go, he'd probably starve.  
"Are you listening to me, boy?" roared the man. The servant boy sometimes thought the master was half feral. He certainly acted that way.  
"Y-Yes, sir."  
"Then you understand how stupid you were?"  
"Yes, sir."  
"I don't think you do. It's Remy, isn't it?" The boy resisted an urge to cringe away as the master came closer and he went tense with fear.  
"Oui- I mean, yes. Yes, sir."  
"Again with the French?" chuckled Mr. Creed, right next to his ear. Remy shuddered and kept his head down. "Do you want another beating, boy?"  
Remy began to tremble.  
"N-No, sir."  
"I'm sorry, what?"  
"No sir, please sir, please don't! Je suis- I mean, I'm très sorry, sir. Very. Very sorry."  
Victor chuckled cruelly, sidling away, and Remy felt some of the tension leak out of his back, stopped trembling. Apparently the master of the house didn't feel like beating Remy again today.  
"You listen to me, boy. My little brother's coming to stay with us for a while, and if this house ain't spotless it'll be all the worse for you. Understand?"  
Remy nodded frantically and Mr. Creed lazily gestured for him to leave. Inwardly thanking god that the master was in a good mood, Remy made to do so, but was cut off by the sound of the man's mocking voice again.  
"Oh, and, boy? My brother's much like myself, only, if anything, he tends to get angry more easy. You understand?"  
Remy forced himself to swallow. "Y-Yes, sir."  
"Good."

*

It was coming close to nightfall and Logan had been walking for days, the blisters on his feet rising up and sinking back down as soon as they did. He ignored the slight pain: if he could survive a cannonball to the chest, he could survive this.  
Occasionally, however, he did stop. Usually to pee or eat. This time it was just to pause and take a break before he'd have to deal with Victor again. The man was a good soldier - after all, he couldn't die, had no sense of compassion and would kill literally anything in his path, if he was in that kind of mood - but he was a hard man to be around for too long, and Logan had been around him for sixty years, add the nine years he'd been alive before his powers manifested, and didn't that make him feel old. He didn't look it, though.  
He sat down on a tree stump, fishing some jerky out of his pocket, and listened very carefully to the sounds of the forest. He had passed the town a couple of miles back - a tiny, miserable-looking place, filled with old men, tough guys, scowling girls and overworked teenage boys - and doubted there was another human being within a mile of him.  
Wait. He could hear footsteps faintly crunching on the fallen leaves, and a very, very quiet undertone of breathing. 

Rogue marched stoically through the woods, not caring if anyone heard or saw her. No one was in these woods anyway, especially not at night, and if anyone was, she could just drain them. She brushed tears out of her eyes as she did. There was no point crying over spilled milk now. Everyone in town knew she was a mutant and there was nothing she could do about it, except go live on the other side of the forest until news travelled and she'd have to go back down south.  
As she walked, she heard what sounded like a growl followed by a cut off curse to her left, and froze. Surely there couldn't be anyone else in here?  
In all reality, it was just Logan walking into a tree, but she had no way of knowing that.  
She kept walking, and if there was someone else in the forest, they didn't make any more sign of themselves. The sun sank over the treetops on the other side, casting shadows everywhere, and Rogue shivered. It was colder, and darker, and some of the trees almost looked like people, horribly twisted and broken...  
She thought she heard another sound, on the right this time, and spun around.  
"Hello?" she called, trying to shake off her fears. "Who's there?"

Logan listened for a moment longer as the footsteps became more rapid, out of rhythm, and then as they stumbled a little. To his surprise, he heard a voice.  
"Hello? Who's there?"  
He blinked.  
"Uh... hello?"  
There was a sharp intake of breath on the other side of a thick clump of trees, and Logan stood up and jogged quickly over to where he'd heard the voice.

Rogue jumped as she heard someone actually reply. In fairness, they sounded as shocked as she was not to be alone.  
A man emerged out of a thicket of trees on her left, looking hesitant and a little confused. He wasn't exactly the tallest, but he had tangled hair and sideburns and stubble to make up for that with a look of wildness. He wore what was probably the remnants of some kind of military uniform; it was hard to tell.  
Logan, in turn, surveyed the girl who had called out. She was about fifteen, wearing a green hood and long coat. Gloves covered her hands, and what long hair spilled out of her hood was brown streaked with white.  
"Didn't realise there was anyone else out here." he said eventually. The girl blinked hesitantly. "M-Me neither."  
Her accent wasn't local, that was for sure.  
"You from Texas or something?" he asked curiously, and she scowled at him in return. "No, Mississippi. I've been living up here for a couple of months."  
Logan nodded and started walking in the direction he'd been going anyway, unsurprised when the girl followed.  
"I lived here as a kid. Just came back, visiting my brother."  
"Does he live on the other side of the forest then?"  
"No, he's set up shop right in the middle. It'd take another four hours to get to the other side, you know."  
Rogue swore under her breath, and Logan felt a pang of guilt. "M'name's Logan, by the way."  
"I'm Marie, but most folks just call me Rogue."  
Logan didn't ask why. He knew better than that. He stopped in the path and looked at her thoughtfully.  
"You haven't got a place to go for the night, have you? I mean, if you're headed to the other side of the forest."  
She shook her head. "No, but I don't mind walking through the night."  
He frowned. "There's wolves out here."  
"I don't care."  
"Now," he said, slightly sarcastically. "What kind of gentleman would I be if I let a girl like you march through the woods all alone? It's a big place, where my brother's holed up. You can have a room, if you want. Just for the night."  
He turned away from her and kept walking, his body language relaxed, unassuming. The message was clear: come or don't, it's your choice. She made up her mind quickly. After all, if he tried anything, she could just touch him.  
Rogue ran to catch up with him, but as she did, she tripped and almost fell. His arm darted out and caught her, her sleeve rucking up as he did, exposing a patch of her bare skin between her coat and her glove. She gasped and pulled frantically away and Logan snatched his hand away as if he'd been burnt.  
"It's ok, kid. I'm not going to hurt you."  
She shook her head. "It's not that. My skin- If people touch me, they get hurt. Like all their life drains away."  
Logan hesitated and then, without a word, extended his claws with a neat 'Schnik'. Rogue stared for a moment, then smiled, and followed him to Victor's house in the middle of the woods.

*

Spotless. That, for one boy, was a bit of a stretch. Remy was, you see, the only servant Mr. Creed employed. The man needed no cook, preferring to just head off into the wilderness outside and hunt and kill deer and rabbits and such if he got really hungry, and have the boy supply him with bread and water if he didn't. Remy just ate whatever was left. He didn't mind; food was, after all, food.  
But making this place spotless, all by himself, was proving to be fairly difficult. He was scrubbing the upper floors when the knock at the door came, his hands already blistered and bruised from doing that all day. Remy allowed himself barely a second to just STOP and BREATHE, and realised as he did that there were red sparks jumping around the scrubbing brush. He yelped and threw it down fearfully. If Mr. Creed found out he was gifted like that, who knew what would happen to him, or if he'd survive. Mr. Creed himself being so... animalistic didn't matter. Everyone hated mutants, Remy had learnt.  
The knock at the door started again and Remy jumped, forcing himself into action. It's Victor's brother, hissed a voice in his head. Victor's brother who gets angrier even easier than Victor does, and you've just kept him waiting.  
Remy half-tripped down the stairs - Dieu, he was exhausted - and hurried to open the door before Victor's brother could knock for a third time.

Logan knocked and, hearing no answer, rolled his eyes.  
"Victor's probably asleep. You stay away from him, if you can. He's a bit... wild."  
He knocked a second time. Logan's supersensitive hearing picked up a muffled yelp and he frowned, listening as disjointed, stumbling footsteps came down the stairs and towards the door.  
The door was opened by a boy around the same age as Rogue, with long, reddish hair and wearing ragged clothes. He glanced up for a moment and then kept his eyes fixed on the floor.  
"A-Are you Mr. Creed, Monsieur?" he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper. Logan stuck his hands in his pockets. "My name's James Logan, but I am the brother of Mr. Creed, yeah."  
The boy nodded and opened the door wider, moving out of the way. "Follow me please, sir."  
Logan glanced around the halls of his childhood home as the boy led him through towards one of the kitchens... or was it the dining room? The last time he'd been here, he was nine years old. It was funny that Victor had found it again.  
The boy though, that was weird. Surely no one would actually willingly work for Victor? The kid was scrawny and short, and Logan was pretty sure he had a bruise on his cheekbone. Maybe he wasn't working willingly then.

Rogue just walked silently behind them and watched. The boy seemed vaguely familiar, but she couldn't put a name to his face.

The house was old. Abandoned for decades, by the look of it. There were sheets and things draped over nearly all the furniture, and everything above the servant boy's meagre head height was dusty and cobwebbed.  
A long time ago this house must have been rich, and kind of cozy. Homely. Rogue vaguely remembered some fairytale about werewolves and an old house and a murder that had happened that the other kids in the town had told her, but she didn't believe a word of it. The man who had led her here was slightly lupine, but he couldn't honestly have lived since whenever that damn ghost story was set, could he?  
The boy stopped outside the room and looked back around to Logan timidly. "Victor's in there."  
Logan nodded. "I'll let myself in. You just take my friend to a room upstairs or something, will you?"  
The boy nodded, all too keen to be gone from anywhere Victor was. With one last grateful glance towards Logan, Rogue followed him.

"Will you and your husband be sharin-"  
"Husband?!" blurted Rogue. "Jesus, I just met him ten minutes ago!"  
Remy hunched his shoulders. "Pardon, Miss, I didn't mean anything by it-"  
Rogue blinked at him. "It's alright, I don't mind. I was just surprised, I guess."  
The boy averted his eyes and kept walking and she struggled to keep up. "What's your name?" she asked eventually, trying to get him to open up. He looked a bit surprised at the question.  
"Remy, Miss. Remy LeBeau."  
"Enough with the 'Miss' stuff." said Rogue. "My name's Marie, but you can just call me Rogue."  
Remy looked up at her for the first time. "I-If you say so, Rogue."  
She smiled gratefully at him. "Thanks."  
He stopped in his tracks, eyes going wide, turning suddenly to her again.  
"I'm sorry, Miss Rogue, I really am. T-There's only trois- I-I mean, three, three rooms made up for people. The others haven't been slept in for a hundred years."  
He looked up at her, slight panic lighting in his eyes. "It's alright, you can just have Remy's room and Remy'll just sleep in the kitchen-"  
"Oh, don't be ridiculous." she cut in, her accent suddenly pronounced. "I can share with you. Logan just offered me a room, seeing as it was that or sleeping in the forest."  
Remy wrapped his arms around his chest, rubbing at his upper arms in a gesture of nervous comfort. "If you don't mind, then you can share with Remy, Miss Rogue. It's just- I'm just- I'm only a servant, and-"  
"And what?" she asked, looking mildly irritated. "You think I'm some rich, high-born lady who-"  
He went bright red and she quickly followed. "Oh my god, you do. Well, I ain't. I'm just normal. I lived in the town for a while, and now I've decided to go to the other side of the forest, and I forgot how long it'd take, and I met Logan in the woods. That's the only reason I'm here."  
Remy flushed again. "Sorry-"  
"You don't have to apologise all the time, you know." She sent him a smile and he quickly looked away, leading her back the way they'd come, around to a more isolated part of the house.  
"This is it. I don' know whose it was before, but I stay here now."  
It was a smallish room, a double bed taking up pretty much all the space apart from a wooden chair in the corner. The chair was scratched and gouged as though by a cat.  
"It's... sad here." said Rogue. "Like something bad happened."  
Remy hesitated. "People in the town tell stories."  
She snorted. "Yeah, sure. Kid's ghost stories about how this little boy turned into a werewolf and stabbed the master of the house."  
Remy shrugged. "Master of the house died one way or the other, and all the people who were here ran away. Maybe his son just got sick and died- that's how they all start, isn't it?"  
Rogue smiled. "Uh huh. 'Once upon a time there was a very sick little boy'." She sat down on the bed.  
"Maybe this was his room."

*

Logan paused a moment before he opened the door to where Victor was sitting, carving a piece of wood up with his claws in front of the fire.  
Victor scowled and twisted around to face him, but his eyes lit up.  
"Logan! Began to think you weren't going to come."  
"Yeah, well, I did. Bit of a fuckin' huge wood grown up since our time."  
They hugged in the most manly way possible. If not for their healing factor, there'd certainly be bruises. "There always was a wood, little brother."  
"Yeah," insisted Logan. "But it wasn't that big. If I could find my way round it at nine years old, it couldn't have been that big."  
Victor shrugged. "It was never small."  
Logan collapsed in the chair opposite Victor, and a cloud of dust rose up.  
"Nice thing you got going on with this place, bub. Homely, but abandoned and rotten."  
Victor chuckled. "Yeah, well. The boy stops it from falling apart totally."  
"Meant to ask you, Vic. What's with the boy?"  
"He's a servant-type-thing."  
"Yeah, I worked that out."  
Victor grinned, remembering his own cleverness. "Only reason he's here is that he was known in the town as a thief, and they only just tolerated him - he's just a kid, you know - but then they found out he was a mutant and they chased him off."  
"And you took him in out of the kindness of your heart?"  
"It's hilarious, actually," said Victor. "I don't pay him, but he doesn't dare leave because he's useless in the forest and the people on both sides of it hate his guts. He wouldn't survive."  
"Ain't from around here."  
"Nope. The kid's French: from New Orleans."  
"Reckon he ran away from there too?"  
Victor shrugged, uncaring. "Probably. Still, he's older than we were, and we survived fine."  
"We had hunting instinct. Not the same."  
"He's still alive, isn't he? What more do you want?"  
Still alive, thought Logan, but not if he stays with you much longer. Bruises and jitteriness and Victor went together like stickiness and sweets: one caused the other.

*

Rogue sat quietly on the bed and watched as Remy darted around her, making up the sheets and things so they wouldn't have to share too much. "So," she began quietly. "You've been here long?"  
He glanced up at her, hesitating to reply, but then a shout sounded from downstairs.  
It was just, quite simply: "BOY!"  
At the tremendous roar, Remy visibly paled, his breathing turning rapid and afraid.  
"Je suis désole," he stammered, turning to French as he, apparently, did when he got frightened. "Monsieur Creed..."  
Without any more explanation than that, he flitted out of the room and ran down the stairs, appearing at the door of wherever it was Victor and Logan were sitting in a matter of seconds.  
He paused for a second and swallowed, mustering his English, then glanced up at them nervously.  
"Yes, sir?"  
"Get us something to eat. Sharpish."  
Remy nodded quickly, relieved, and disappeared again. Logan watched him. "So, Victor," he said, oddly conversationally. "What's this I hear about another war on the horizon?"  
"In Europe. Colonies and empires getting restless, just like last time, only this time there are big guns involved."  
"There were big guns last time. I remember being hit by a few."  
"There are tanks now. It's a new kind of warfare, this. Smarter."  
Logan shrugged. "Men are still going to die, Victor."  
"Yeah, but we won't be among them."  
Remy appeared at the door again, and Logan could smell the terror rolling off him in waves, but - worse than that - he could smell the resignation underneath it.  
"Monsieur Creed," he breathed anxiously, and the man looked up at him irritably.  
"What?"  
"There isn't- we don't have anything, any food, sir."  
"Nothing?" said Victor, in a mock concerned tone. Remy averted his eyes from his face, a visible knot of tension between his shoulders, growing painfully tighter as Victor stood up.  
"Then you should have damn well gotten something, boy." His voice was growing more like a growl with every word, and Remy pressed himself subconsciously into the doorframe as he did.  
"That's your job, isn't it?" Victor was saying. "To buy food. If we haven't got none, go get some. Now."  
Remy gulped and, to Logan's surprise, shook his head. "Non, sil vous plait, Mr. Creed, it's too late for that and it'd take too long, I'm sorry, I-"  
As the master came closer, Remy's words descended into terrified babble, until at the word 'I', Victor caught him by the hair and slammed his head against the doorframe, drawing only a whimper from the kid, who was used to this, it seemed.  
"Listen to me, boy, have I ever allowed you to ask questions before?"  
Remy shook his head, eyes screwed shut against pain and mortal fear.  
"Does it sound like I care about how scared you are of the dark?"  
"Please-" the boy begged, only for Victor to grow his nails into talons and place them at his throat, cutting him off.  
Victor growled and Remy's eyes flew open, the irises a glowing red now, glancing pleadingly at Logan before back to Victor, wide and frightened, before the feral mutant raised a hand as though to strike him and he cringed away as best he could with a hand holding him up by his hair-  
And then Logan wrenched Sabretooth away with a grip on his shoulder.  
"Victor! Leave the kid alone, it ain't his fault!"  
The second Victor let go of him, Remy sunk down against the frame, only holding himself up with his hands, and forcing his eyes back to a natural colour in the hope that no one would have noticed.  
"I've got some stuff in my pack," snarled Logan. "We can eat that."  
He looked down at the still-cowering boy and said in a voice that was the most human he could get it right then: "Get out of here."  
Remy nodded gratefully at him and scrambled away, and Victor pointed a raised eyebrow at him, speaking calmly. "Well, what was that for? I was just-"  
"Just about to beat the fuck out of him, yeah." growled Logan. "Say another word and I swear I'll hit you, so don't."  
Victor shrugged.

*

Remy, meanwhile, ran all the way back to his room before he remembered that someone else was in there, and paused for a moment outside to breathe deeply and brush away any tears that had pricked in his eyes at Mr. Creed's painful grip on his hair.  
He knocked quietly, just to make sure Rogue wasn't getting changed or anything, and opened the door when she called back that it was ok.  
"Bonjour, mademoiselle," he greeted with mock cheerfulness, but she saw right through it. Maybe it had something to do with the way his voice trembled.  
"Oh my god," she gasped, standing up. "What happened?"  
Remy shook his head, swallowing. "Nothing."  
She ignored him. "The man who owns this place, did he hit you?"  
She put a gloved and sleeved arm around his shoulders and he shied away slightly. "Not really, Miss Rogue, he just pulled Remy's hair a little. It's alright, I swear, didn't hurt that much."  
For more than a moment, Rogue wanted very much to hug him, but knew she couldn't.  
"He do that often?" she said, trying to sound more casual than she was so that Remy would open up a little.  
He shrugged. "Sometimes. More often than I'd like, but I'm still alive so... bof?"  
Rogue smacked him gently on the upper arm. "You can't just be ok with that!"  
Remy collapsed next to her on the big bed. "Why not? I haven't got anywhere else to go."  
"Does he pay you?"  
"Non. Can't run away, got no money. Mr. Creed can just go on beating me, and one day I'll end up dead and then I won't matter even more than I already don't."  
Rogue hesitated. "I'm running away; you could run away with me."  
At his shocked expression, she blushed. "I mean, it doesn't have to mean anything, we can just stick together so no one'll..."  
Remy's thin arms were flung over her. "Merci, merci beaucoup!"  
Rogue went stiff under them, squirming away from his touch, and Remy seemed to realise. He let go as though she was painful.  
"Pardo- I mean, sorry. Sorry."  
"It's not your fault." she said quietly. "I can't touch people. When I do, something bad happens. Something... unnatural."  
Remy blinked, then smiled deviously. "For a moment, I thought Remy'd given you a static-electric shock. I do that, you know."  
He reached out and sent purple sparks of energy running up and down the bedpost. Rogue stared for a moment, then laughed.  
"Logan, the man who brought me here, he's got claws coming out of his knuckles, I hurt people who touch my skin, and you do something to the energy. We're seriously all mutants?"  
Remy nodded, stunned. "The master of the house is as well, Miss. He's like an animal."  
Rogue smiled at him. "Then we'll run away and be mutant freaks together."  
She gasped. "I knew I knew you from somewhere! You were there the first week I was in town, but the other kids threw things at you and stuff, and them you disappeared."  
Remy smiled lopsidedly. "Oui. The policeman grabbed Remy so I used my powers and then I had to run away so no one'd lock me up."  
"You ran here?"  
"Kinda can't leave."  
She lay down and he lay next to her.  
"Well, you're leaving with me."

They slept like that, carefully far apart and wrapped in separate blankets to avoid touching each other, but each knowing the other one was there, and full of hope for the future.

*

Logan stayed awake pretty much the entire night, going to bed at three in the morning. He didn't bother calling Remy to find his room. It was only a few doors down from Victor's, after all, and he wouldn't want to put the kid within reach of his brother again.  
Whether he called for him or not, though, Logan was destined to run into him.  
Literally.  
He turned a corner and suddenly got an armful of scrawny, squirming kid, dressed in clothes far too large for him and holding the hand of a girl dressed in leather and wearing gloves. Remy stumbled back as quickly as he could, breathing quickly and stammering apologies in his broken English/French.  
Logan raised an eyebrow and he stopped, staring pleadingly up at the animalistic mutant.  
Rogue's grip on his hand tightened and she stepped forward.  
"Good morning, Logan."  
"Hey, kid. You two going somewhere?"  
She shrugged. "Yeah, somewhere. You going to tell that Creed guy about it? Remy can't stay here and I never planned to."  
Logan grinned reluctantly. "Good for you. I didn't see anything, ok?"  
She smiled and pulled her hood up, heading for the door, pulling Remy after her, ignoring his shouts of 'Merci!' to Logan as they went.  
He snorted and went to bed.

*

Outside of the Howlett's gate, it felt darker than it should have been, weighing the air down like a cloying black fog and making it hard to see any kind of pathway through the trees. They paid it no heed, running almost desperately through them and away from the house, until they could no longer see its lights and Remy laughed, defiant and light, yelling insults in French. He turned to Rogue, elated.  
"If I could kiss you, Mademoiselle, I would."  
"Don't," she laughed back. "Last boy I kissed was in a coma for three weeks."  
He shrugged. "I could miss three weeks and not cry. Three weeks time, I might even wake up in New Orleans again, so-"  
"I'm serious, Remy. I don't want to hurt people."  
"Sorry."  
They walked from there, knowing that it'd take them a long time to get out of the woods.  
After a few minutes, however, when they couldn't be more than a mile from the house, they heard a soft, animal rumble in the distance. Rogue shivered.  
"What was that?" asked Remy, to no one in particular.  
"Wolves?" she guessed, pulling her sleeves down even further. "Logan said there were some in these woods."  
"Well, if they attack us, I'll scare them off with the pretty sparks, 'k?"  
She nodded quickly. "Ok."  
As they walked, the occasional snarling grew louder, closer, until one time it was almost mocking and Remy spun around, sending sparks flying every which way, illuminating the shadowy trees around them.  
No use. They couldn't see anything, animal or otherwise, anywhere near them, and they hurried on.  
"H-How far is it out, d'you think?" whispered Rogue, clutching her coat around her in cold and fear. Remy was trembling slightly.  
"I don't know. More than another two hours, though, probably three."  
"For you, yes." hissed the voice that had been growling, and Rogue jumped and Remy shrunk back toward her, terrified. "Three and a half," it continued, chuckling cruelly. "For you. For me, only an hour, possibly less if I really hurry. There isn't any escaping me, boy."  
Remy's face was pale enough to almost glow in the darkness.  
"Creed," he whispered, knees buckling. "Victor Creed."  
"That's my name, kid."  
"No, no," moaned Remy, collapsing to his knees. "Sil vous plait, Dieu, non-"  
A shape emerged from the trees, and Rogue pulled her hood back, sticking her chin up to face it. It smiled at her, and she could see pointed fangs.  
"Miles from anyone to hear you yell," he crowed triumphantly. "Although, if you're really lucky, maybe someone'll find your bodies and think you were ripped apart by a wolf pack, and maybe bury you somewhere."  
He paused for a moment to shrug off his long coat, and Rogue's terror only grew.  
"You know, girly, there aren't actually any wolves in here. People just think that, you see. You know what there is in here, though?"  
She tried not to hyperventilate. "W-What?"  
Victor Creed grinned.  
"Me."

He was right. They were too far away for anyone to hear them; not Rogue's high, sobbing scream as she died, nor Remy's terrified pleas and, eventually, his begging for death.

*

Victor went back to Logan in the morning, pretended to be angry and confused over the loss of his servant, and Logan thought they had run away, and they stayed in the house for a while longer before moving off again and, nine years later, in 1914, throwing themselves merrily back into war.

It wasn't until 1985 that he knew anything was wrong.

*

New Orleans, 1985

"That is cool." whistled John Wraith as they approached the poker table, but Logan only rolled his eyes. The mutant in question was named Remy and was from New Orleans, and damn if that wasn't sparking old, only half-remembered memories behind his eyes. Still, there had to be a thousand 'Remy's here, not to mention 'Remi's and 'Rémy's.  
"Are you Remy LeBeau?" he asked, sitting opposite the man in question. Even his hair was the same as that other boy's, though Logan warily. Too long and oddly auburn.  
"Do I owe you money?" His voice was full of joking confidence, not at all like the other Remy's stammering, hesitant words, even if the accent was the same.  
"No."  
"Then Remy LeBeau I am."  
Logan sat down, ignoring him slightly as he talked cards.  
"Does the name 'Rogue' mean anything to you?" he inquired quietly, unsure of why he did. It wasn't like they were the same person, Logan chided himself. Perhaps this Remy was the other Remy's great-grandson or something.  
" 'Rogue'? No. Why?"  
Logan shrugged. "Just wondering."

And then there was that whole business with Victor, and Gambit - as Logan had started mentally referring to him, for the sake of his sanity - interrupting them.  
When he saw Victor's face, though, that made Logan think. The kid wore the same expression - precisely the same expression on precisely the same face, even if this Remy was a little better-fed and a little older - as the other Remy when he caught a glimpse of Sabretooth, hands tightening on his stick just as the other boy had gripped the doorframe fearfully...  
He slammed Gambit into the wall by his lapels, snarling. The other boy would be cringing, frightened, but, shocked as this guy was, he kept his head up.  
"I've got two questions for you, Gambit," growled Logan, spitting the name out like a curse. "Two fucking questions, and you're going to answer both of them. How are you here? How are you alive?"  
"That count as two?" said the boy, trying for bravado and coming up short.  
"That counts as ONE." he hissed, and the kid started talking.  
"I don't know what you're talking about, you and Creed. I've never seen either of you before. I'm alive because I am, and I can't explain that, but when Creed nabbed me he wouldn't stop questioning me, wouldn't leave me alone when I was on The Island either." His voice turned bitter. "As if the experiments weren't enough. As if being kept in a cage like-" He steeled himself and continued. "Creed kept saying that. 'You're dead, you are dead, you can't be here. I killed you, and your little girlfriend, and left you in the forest to rot. How are you here?'. I didn't know what he was talking about then and I don't now."  
Logan felt a sinking feeling in his chest. Victor had killed them. Both of them. Remy AND Rogue.  
"Why'd you keep asking me?" begged the kid, his voice desperate and weary now. "Who do you think I AM?"  
Logan released his hold a bit, his years showing on his face at the thought that the other Remy had never escaped, and that the 'Rogue' girl, Marie, had died too. "No one. A kid- he died a long time ago. Seventy years ago."  
Logan frowned fiercely, gripping Gambit again, ignoring as the young man put his hands up in a sort of surrender.  
"Second question. Why the hell didn't you let me kill him?!"

And, well, things went downhill from there. Logan lost his memories, for a start, and ended up, much as he always did, slightly lost in Canada.

*

Canada, 2000

Logan watched with a furrowed brow as the teenage girl in the cab next to him ate hungrily, rubbing her, now ungloved, fingers with the cold. He flicked the heater on and reached for her hands, saying "Here, put them on this-", and blinking when she flinched away.  
"I'm not gonna hurt you, kid."  
She shook her head. "S'nothing personal. It's just... When I touch people, something happens. Something bad."  
"What?"  
"I don't know."  
Logan grunted. "Fair enough." He frowned as vague flashes of memories came to him, and stared very hard at the girl. "Do I know you?"  
She looked up at him and shook her head. "No. I've never met you before."  
"You sure?"  
She smiled a little, turning her attention back to the jerky. "I think I'd remember if I'd met a cage-fighter with metal claws in his knuckles." She hesitated. "Does it hurt? When they come out."  
He spoke in a quiet voice. "Every time."

And when their particular adventure together was done, the professor finally approached Logan with a clue about his past - "There's a house in the forest, up in the North-West of Canada. I'm sending directions directly into your mind. It may hold some clue for you." - and he was ready to go, she approached him, with a white streak in her hair.  
He caught it with two fingers and she grinned.  
"I kinda like it."  
His brow furrowed. "It looks... It looks more like YOU. Like that's how you should- how I-" He cut off, blinking. "Never mind. Yeah, it looks great, kid."  
And with that, he left.

*

Logan paused outside the house, unsure. It was a very old place, mid-nineteenth century, according to some local guy that he'd been forced to ask in the town.  
He pushed past the gate, shaking off his fears, foggy and half-arsed as they were.  
At the door, however, he stopped short, overpowered by the sudden weight of the images flashing through his head.

*A boy, too small, too skinny, opens the door, looks up nervously. "A-Are you Mister Creed, Monsieur?" he stammers. A girl stands next to Logan, dressed in the clothes of the time, covering as much skin as possible. Her hair is streaked with white.*  
*The same boy, older, healthier, dressed in more modern clothes, is slammed into a wall by Logan. "I don't know what you're talking about!"*

That was Rogue. How could Rogue be here? More to the point, how could Rogue be here in 1905? How did he even know that was 1905?  
He stumbled forward, as though in a dream, and glanced at the rotten opening to another room.

*A man, a little too close to an animal, stands up to greet him. "Logan!". The animal-man throwing the boy into a doorframe. The boy, in the eighties, in the city again saying, angrily quoting the animal-man. " 'I killed you, and your little girlfriend, and left you to rot in the forest'."*

A name, echoing through his head, can't remember, can't remember, it's important-

*The ghosts of two other little boys, scared and hunted, run out of the house and into the woods. The older one looks the little one in the eyes.  
"We're brothers, Jimmy."*

Victor. Victor Creed, his half-brother, and the boy: Remy LeBeau, and Rouge was there, she was...

Well, thought Logan, staring around himself. That opened a whole new can of worms.

FIN


End file.
